


Muggle Phone

by Lariope



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lariope/pseuds/Lariope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry buys Draco a mobile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muggle Phone

After the third time that Draco became lost in Muggle London and had to be escorted home by the constabulary, Harry bought them both mobiles.

“What is _this?_ ” Draco asked when Harry presented it to him. He sounded as if he wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or impressed.

“It’s a mobile phone,” Harry said. “Think of it as a portable Floo Network that you keep in your pocket. There’re only so many times that I’m going to be able to convince the police that you’ve recently sustained head injury.”

Draco huffed, turning the mobile around in his hands. “Where do you put the powder in?”

“You don’t need powder,” Harry said. “See this green button? Press that, and just say, ‘Harry.’ I’ve already programmed it for you.”

Draco pressed the button and said, “Harry,” warily into the device. He jumped when Harry’s trousers began to chirp.

“Merlin! What the fuck is--oh--” he said, as Harry pulled his own mobile from his pocket.

“Hello, Draco?” Harry said urgently into the phone. “Give me your exact location.”

“Our kitchen, you speccy git,” Draco said with a slight smile at the corner of his lips.

***

At first, Draco never used the mobile, and most often, Harry found it in the bowl beside the door where Draco always left the keys to their flat, a handful of pounds, and anything else he found too unbearably Muggle to be seen with in public. The fact that Harry was always chasing him down with these items (or conferring with the police about returning them to his poor, injured ‘cousin‘) seemed to matter little to him. But when the Auror Department received a lead on a former Death Eater and Harry was required to perform stakeouts, Draco suddenly became devoted to mobile culture.

***

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin the first time it rang.

“Draco, are you all right?”

“Yes, fine, fine. Listen, I wonder if you remember those pastries we had over Pansy’s two Sundays ago. The little round ones?”

“Yes?”

“I thought it might be nice to get some.”

“…”

“For tea.”

“Draco, where are you?”

“At home, of course. It’s nearly two. Bartelby Floome is about to come on the wireless. Where else would I be?”

“I just… you realize I’m at work, don’t you?”

“I hardly thought you were in the living room, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Draco, I’m on a _stakeout_. I’m hiding. I can’t be talking on the mobile about pastries.”

“Well, forgive me for living,” Draco said and hung up without saying goodbye.

***

When it rang again, Harry glared at it.

“Hello?”

“I’m in suburban hell!” Draco cried. “I must’ve missed the stop, and now I’m in some labyrinthine nightmare of the middle class. Nothing but row houses as far as the eye can see!”

Harry sighed. “Are you in Islington again?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! Everything looks depressingly similar--”

“What stop did you get off at?”

“…Highbury and Islington…” Draco answered in a small voice.

“Get back on the Victoria Line…” Harry said wearily.

***

“Sorry, sorry, I just need to know my mobile number.”

“Your mobile number?”

“Yes, Potter, the number that rings this phone.”

Harry hated it when Draco called him Potter. It invariably meant there were other people present. He insisted that calling another man by his first name was unbearably poofy and was to be reserved for ‘private times.’

“Why do you need to know your number?”

“Well, I’ve met the most charming woman, and she knows all about the pastries I was describing to you earlier. Anyway, she’s going to call me when she gets home and--”

“Do you think it’s a good idea to be giving your mobile number to Muggles?”

“Honestly, Potter, do you hold some sort of _prejudice_ against Muggles? Tut, tut; that won’t be good for your image at all!”

“Draco, please don’t say Muggle in public,” Harry sighed.

****

“Harry?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“Could you stop for milk on the way home?”

“Are you _trying_ to get me sacked?”

“Of course not,” Draco said haughtily. “I was just thirsty.”

***

The mobile rang as Harry ascended the steps to their flat.

“Yes. Draco.” Harry bit out.

“I’m lonely. When are you coming home?”

He opened the door and saw Draco sitting at the kitchen table, mobile pressed to his ear, the curve of his spine somehow speaking defeat.

Harry crossed the room and laid his hand on the nape of Draco’s neck. “What is this actually about?” he asked into the mobile that was wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

“I have no idea what you are on about,” Draco said to the phone, still not turning to look at Harry.

“You called me twelve times today.”

“Was it twelve? It seemed like less.”

“Draco.”

There was a long pause before Draco took a deep breath and said, “Did you find him?”

“Find who--Goyle?”

“Greg, yes.”

“No. I could hardly conduct a proper stakeout while answering _twelve_ phone calls about pastry. But, Draco, I thought we had worked this out a long time ago. You know what I do for a living. You know… you know that sometimes I have to go after people that we know, and I’m sorry that I have to track down your friend, truly, I am. I wish that I could--”

“It’s not that. It’s just… I mean, I know it’s your job to find Greg. And I know that he has to… that he has to pay for what he did.”

“Then what is it?”

“Mumblemumblemumblewonderwhatyoueversawmumblemumble.”

“I’m sorry, you’re breaking up.”

“I said,” Draco said, laying the mobile on the table, but keeping his eyes averted, “that I was afraid you’d look at him and remember us together and wonder what you ever saw in me.”

“And you felt that a little mobile harassment would remind me how charming and wonderful you are?” Harry said quietly, laying his mobile beside Draco’s.

“I just, I thought maybe if you remembered what we have--brunches at Pansy’s, and breakfast late on the weekends, the daily chores like cooking and getting groceries--well, not that I ever do any of that--but it’s ours, Harry, it’s our flat, it’s our life--”

“You are such a tosser,” Harry said, lowering himself into a chair beside Draco.

“I am?” Draco looked at him hopefully.

“I asked you to live with me. I carry a telephone that only you have the number to. Draco, I didn’t do those things on a whim. It’s not like I’m going to wake up one day and say to myself, ‘that Malfoy certainly hasn’t changed a bit since we were kids.’”

“Oh,” Draco said.

They sat companionably side by side for a time, and Draco rested his arm against Harry’s.

“Harry?” he said at last.

“Yeah?”

“Did you bring the milk home like I asked?”


End file.
